


Weirwood.net

by Knightotlaughingtree



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), jonerys - Fandom
Genre: Daenerys Targaryen - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Inspired by A Song of Ice and Fire, Inspired by Game of Thrones, Jon Snow - Freeform, Jon and Dany Fanfic, Jonerys, Smut, Work In Progress, game of thrones season 8
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-04-21 03:33:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14276028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knightotlaughingtree/pseuds/Knightotlaughingtree
Summary: Before Jon and Dany can know how to work together to defeat the Night King, they must get to know each other. That is where Bran, and his mystical tree powers come in...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A little Jonerys fic I have been thinking about writing for a while. Takes place after they arrive at Winterfell. I don’t want to focus too much on what is happening at Winterfell or the incoming war, as much as the idea that I’ve had since I’ve been rewatching the series This is going to be a little weird I’m sure, but the idea is “What would Jon and Dany think of each other if they could watch the events in the show like we have?” Only way I could think to do that, while not completely treading into AU territory was to have Bran pull some Three Eyed Raven magic out and connect them to Weirwood.net.

Jon

Jon had woken early in the morning, sun just starting to creep over the horizon. It was hard for him to get a full night’s sleep anymore, so he rose and started to dress, ready to get on with the day. He had only been back in Winterfell a couple nights. Barely enough time to get settled, let alone take care of every thing he had needed to before the true war began, and no spare time to spend with his newly reunited siblings. They had spent time enough together in war councils and walking through the camps checking out conditions and making sure their people had what they needed. He could feel their apprehension towards him after bringing the Dragon Queen into their home, and forsaking his crown for her sake. He needed time to explain, without the eyes of the Northern Lords, and their judgements clouding the minds of his family. 

He had barely even seen his new monarch since they had arrived. She had been spending most of her time getting the Dothraki and Unsullied camps together, and had been staying in her own tent outside Winter’s Town. When she had climbed out of their carriage at their arrival, all the Northern Lords and all of the Starks had been gathered to greet them, and he had felt how uncomfortable she had become at their gaze, either excited by her beauty, or fearful of her reputation. 

Here was a sharp rap on his door, and he commanded them to enter. A servant entered quickly, closing the door behind him. “My lord, your presence is requested by Lord Stark. He would request that you meet him in the Godswood.” He nodded to the boy, and walked over to where his furs lay to strap them on as the servant bowed and quietly left. 

Jon was too curious about this odd request by Bran to even bother to break his fast, and made his way straight to the Godswood. He had only really spoken to his younger half-brother once or twice since he arrived, and it was always related to the Night King and the Army of the dead. He had heard some whispers of how Bran had changed beyond the wall, but Jon knew exactly how seeing what they had both seen could change a person. As he walked towards the heart tree, his heart kept up into his throat. Bran sat in his chair, stoic and unsmiling, but quietly speaking to someone. Across from Bran, sitting on the stump his father used to sit while cleaning Ice, was a silver haired woman, smiling softly and listening intently to every word. As he approached, her violet eyes darted to him, and her smile reached her eyes, letting his heart settle back into his chest. 

“You’re Grace,” he said with a small smile, drawing up beside her and turning towards Bran. “What are we doing out here?” 

Bran’s starry gaze left Dany and drifted to him, “Please, sit. I’m afraid we may be out here for a bit. Good to see you both dressed warmly.” Jon looked to Dany, who was wearing a coat similar to what she wore at Dragonstone, high collard and fur-lined, but had also donned a hooded cloak of heavy black wool. Her hair had been braided down her back, with little bells tied in, as if she were preparing to ride off on her dragon into battle. The ladies of Westeros commonly wore braids in their hair, but let most of it cascade down their backs or over their shoulders. Maybe the customs had been different in Essos. He squeezed in next to her in the stump, their legs grazing each other as he did. 

She caught his scrutiny of her, and squinted her eyes at him, playfully scolding him with just a look. Bran spoke again. “Jon You need to get to work convincing the Northern Lords to support Queen Daenerys and to continue the fight with us against the Night King. Sansa is trying her best to keep them from leaving with their soldiers and supplies, but you need to speak on her behalf.” 

His eyes returned to Dany, feeling ashamed he had not been able to calm them thus far. They had many meetings discussing Jon’s decision to bend the knee, and even after explaining what had happened north of the wall, and how she sacrificed the life of one of her children to save them, and to make sure their plan would not fail, he could still not convince them that she was not like her father, or like any Targaryen who had come before. He could not verbalize the trust that he had in her, without sounding like a Love-sick little boy, and he did not want them to assume he was following I. The foot steps of his brother Robb. He had tried bringing in advisors of the Queen to speak on her behalf, but the Northern Lords had shrugged off the opinions of past slaves and Eunuchs, as well as a Lannister. She looked at him now, her eyes reflecting his own sadness. He reached for her hand that sat in a tight fiat in her lap and squeezed it reassuringly. 

Bran seemed to have a solution, “I would like to show you something. There are many things actually, but the rest can wait, this is more important.” Bran leaned slightly forward in his chair, and reached out to Jon. “Take my hand.” 

Jon paused briefly to look to Dany, to gauge her reaction, but she only nudged him forward with a smile, and he took Bran’s out stretched hand. As he did, everything went black, for just a moment, until he was enveloped by a warm yellow light. He could feel the warmth of the sun on his face, shining in through an open door to his left, the breeze blowing the soft white draperies into the room. In front of him was a large bath, so much steam rising into the air, it almost obscured anything else in the room. He went to move, to inspect the foreign area, but finally noticed the small, soft hand, still clutched in his own. Dany was next to him, still in her furs, and staring at the room in awe. 

“What is it? Where are we?” Jon was able to get those words out before he was interrupted. 

“Daenerys? Daenerys? There’s our bride to be.” Dany’s hand squeezed Jon’s tightly her other hand came up to grip his arm just above the elbow as a small man with silver hair entered the room from across the tub, holding a handful of silk outstretched in his arms as if it he were holding something precious. “Look, a gift from Illiryo.” The man said to a smaller woman, with long flowing silver locks blocking her face. 

The man continued to talk to the small girl, but Jon was too confused to listen. “Who is that, Dany?” He said in a whisper. 

“That... that is my brother, Viserys.” She whispered back, but she did not so much as blink. Her face was completely unmoving, and he could not tell whether he saw more anger or sadness in her eyes. She was barely even breathing, but she worked up the courage to nod towards the girl. “And that... is me...”

Jon’s shock and confusion must have been evident on his face, but Daenerys’ eyes had not shifted from the scene playing out in front of them. He looked back towards the girl, still unable to believe that he was seeing. The young Dany looked up towards her brother, and her hair fell back enough to see her face. 

“We’ve been his guest for over a year and he’s... never asked us for anything.” She said, as the truth punched Jon in the gut. It was Dany, younger and more fragile looking, but there was no denying what he was seeing. She was beautiful, even as a child. Her long hair covered her features like a curtain. He had never seen it like this, and it made her look even younger than she had to have been at this point. Suddenly, he felt a presence behind him and Dany, but did not have to turn to know who it must be. 

“I’ve brought you both here so that you might understand,” said Bran. His voice was monotone, but not a whisper like theirs had been. The young Targaryen’s in front of them did not seem to hear or see them at all. Jon understood at once what this was, and how they must have gotten there. “To know the way to move forward, you must look to the past. Find what it is that has brought the Dragon Queen and the White Wolf together, so that you may work together. Perhaps you will lear what you need to say to to the Northern Lords so that they may understand as well.” 

The scene continued to play out in front of them as if they were not even there. Jon had looked to Bran as he was speaking, but Dany had not moved a muscle. Jon could see by the clench of her jaw, and the grip with which she was holding onto him, this must not be a happy memory. 

He turned back to witness, as Viserys handed off the cloth to a servant. “You still slouch,” he chided, running his eyes over young Daenerys’ body. He reached up to her neck, brushing back her hair with his hands “Let them see. You have a woman’s body now.” From under her hair slid her dress, down to the floor, ushered along by her brother’s hands. 

Jon’s whole body was tense now, as Dany’s had been. His nostrils flared, teeth clenched together. She had not spoken much of Viserys in their short time together, and he could already understand why. He could not imagine the type of man that would undress a young girl and scrutinize her body like this, let alone the man’s own sister. 

When the prince’s hand reached out to her breast, caressing it as young Daenerys stared blankly past him, Jon lost what control he had left. He broke free on Dany’s grasp, storming around the tub towards the pair. Before he could reach them, Bran appeared, grasping his shoulder. 

Cold air entered Jon’s lungs with a gasp. His hand was clutched in Dany’s as they sat together on a stump again, both panting hard and searching their surroundings. Bran leaned back in his chair, not looking shaken by the events of the past few minutes at all. “You could not have stopped him, Jon.”

“Aye,” he replied between breaths. “But I damn sure was going to try.” He looked to Dany, to make sure she was alright, but surprisingly, she had a small smile on her face. 

“And people say that I have a temper.” Her eyes met Jon’s, not showing the emotions that were present before. “That was the day I was to meet my betrothed, Khal Drogo. Viserys wanted to make sure he would like me, so he would pledge his Khalasar to him, and help him take back the Iron Throne.” A small chuckle escaped her lips, “That, of course, never happened.” 

Jon knew he must look confused, his brows were furrowed, and his lips pursed. He looked from Dany, to Bran. “Alright, let’s see some more.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Dany take a trip back to her past, seeing more of young Viserys and meeting Khal Drogo.

When they clasped hands again, Jon was ready for the change. He did not flinch away from the bright light that surrounded them, and his eyes were able to adjust quickly. They were outside this time, judging by the silks flowing in the breeze in the doorway,they were in the same palace as before. Daenerys stood facing out towards a courtyard, her brother standing too close by her side. Another man, larger with a queer accent stood to the side answering questions posed by the Dragon Prince. 

“That is Illyrio Mopatis. We stayed here in Pentos with him while he helped to arrange my betrothal to Drogo.” Dany explained as she took in the sites around them. Jon looked too, first to the courtyard below them, down a flight of stairs, filled with men and women all dressed in similar red and gold fabrics. His eyes drifted back to young Daenerys, where she stood in fear by her brother. She was now wearing the dress that Viserys had brought to her in the bath, a loose fitting slip, of a purple tinted silver, and very translucent. The sight of her young body through her dress made him sad and angry, but he held in his rage, helped by the small squeeze she gave his hand. 

From behind them, Jon began to hear hoof beats, and turned to see a group of Dothraki riding into the courtyard, paying little mind to the people scrambling out of their way. They stopped at the bottom of the stairs as the fat Pentoshi man greeted them and introduced his guests. The Dothraki in the front, Jon guessed to be Drogo, the Khal That Daenerys was to marry, his long braid and scarred body being evidence enough. Jon had met Dothraki Horse Lords before in the Khalisar that Dany brought from Essos, but this man was something else entirely. The way he was looking towards young Daenerys looked like a wild animal staking out its prey. 

Jon glanced back to the Targaryen’s to see Viserys whispering in his young siblings ear. “He’s a savage, of course but he is one of the finest killers alive. And you will be his Queen...”

Jon was lost in thought after that. He knew from his sister what a forced marriage to such a brutal man could do to a woman. Jon had heard stories as a child of the brutality of the Dothraki, but looking into this man’s eyes, he couldn’t imagine the fear this young girl must have felt at the prospect. They were walking now, following the young Targaryen’s as they made plans with their host. Dany’s hand squeezing his own brought him out of his own mind and back into the scene in front of them. 

“I don’t want to be his Queen.” Young Dany was almost pleading with her brother. “I want to go home.”

“So do I.” Viserys replied, condescendingly. “I want us both to go home. So tell me sweet sister, how do we go home?” He had moved too close to her again, and Jon could feel a soft tug pulling him backwards. When he looked to the Daenerys at his side, she looked so small. The look she gave him was worry mixed with sadness. 

“I don’t know,” her younger version replied, sheepishly. Since Jon had met the Queen, he had never known her to be sheepish. 

“We go home with an army. Khal Drogo’s Army. I would let his whole tribe fuck you. All 40 thousand men, and their horses too, if that’s what it took.” He kissed her forehead and Dany released his hand, breaking the chain that held them in the past. 

The cold began to weep into Jon’s skin again, and without thinking, he reached his hand behind Daenerys, pulling her close to his chest and wrapping her in his own cloak. “How could he treat you that way? I am so sorry. I wish he was here right now, I would...” 

Daenerys interrupted, placing a hand on his chest. “Don’t. He got what was coming to him, what he always wanted. He is gone now. No need to dwell on his memory.”

Jon agreed, knowing there was plenty in his past that he would rather just forget. “You were so young. I hardly recognized you, as you weren’t giving out orders or telling someone to bend the knee,” he joked, and received a small fist to the ribs for it. 

Bran broke the silence. “Now that you are both more used to it, we are going to have to speed things up. We do not have a lot of time, with the incoming war, and there is still much you both need to see. Daenerys, are you ready?”

Dany looked up to Jon, from her small spot within his cloak and smiled. “I’ve always wanted to know more about this mysterious, brooding man.” She scooted closer to him, into a more comfortable position, and reached her hand out towards Bran.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long. Time for some Jon flashbacks!!!!

Daenerys braced herself before taking Bran’s hand. The feeling of slipping into the past, as they had, felt unnatural to her, but not completely unpleasant. Like her breath was being sucked from her chest and replaced with all the smells and feeling of another place all at once. The first 2 times had been places she was familiar with, so it was easier to get used to, but this time was different. She felt as if she was being forced into a place where she did not fit, and the air around her needed to make room. 

The air was pleasant though, not as warm as the blazing heat of Illiryo’s palace, but much warmer than they had been in the Godswood. She recognized the stone walls around them as Winterfell, but not the woman seated in the room. Her auburn hair was long and hung loose and unkempt around her distressed face. Her long fingers were fiddling with some twine and sticks, wrapping the twine around and around to create, what seemed to be, a doll. The boy laying in the bed in front of her Daenerys recognized quickly, though he was much younger, as Bran. The woman looked to be on the verge of tears, or had already been crying for some time it seemed to Dany. “This is after Bran’s accident?” She whispered to Jon as to not disturb the woman before them. 

Jon nodded in response. His jaw was set and the corners of his mouth were slightly down turned, though not in anger, it seemed, but in sadness. “And that is Lady Catelyn. Bran’s, and my other siblings’, mother.” A small hint of recognition sparked in his eyes before he he averted his gaze to the ground. This must not be something he is fond of remembering, thought Daenerys as slow, hesitant footsteps sounded from the hallway to their left. Through the door strode a young Jon Snow, his curls loose hanging, fitted in his custom leather garb. From where she was standing, she could see both Jon’s, young and old; ones looking towards the ground, not wanting to see what was going to happen. The other, looking to Bran, sadness in his eyes, but also determination. Lady Catelyn was looking to him as well, halting her progress on the project in her lap, her gaze fierce and angry. She turned away and the young Jon said, “I came to say goodbye to Bran.”

“And you’ve said it,” she quipped, not bothering to look up again, her voice seething. Daenerys got the feeling her tone was a warning to stay away, though she did not understand why. 

Jon ignored her tone and strode towards the other side of the bed and gazed down at Bran. “I wish I could be here when you wake up. I’m going North with Uncle Benjen. I’m taking the Black.” Lady Catelyn watched him carefully, as befitting a mother wolf protecting her young. Daenerys did not understand why Bran would need protecting from Jon. From the way Jon spoke of his siblings, they all seemed to be close before they were separated. Jon knelt down next to the bed and continued. “I know we always talked about seeing the Wall together, but you’ll be able to come visit me at Castle Black when you’re better. I’ll know my way around by then. I’ll be a sworn brother of the Night’s Watch. We can go out walking beyond the Wall if you’re not afraid.” Finally, Jon looked to Lady Catelyn, who had been staring daggers at him as he spoke to Bran. 

Beside her, she felt Jon tense for a moment, until quiet steps entered the room beside him. His eyes lit up as his head jolted towards the door to see a man enter he room. He was taller than Jon, with long brown hair, and a beard trimmed short on his hard face. Before Daenerys could place him, Jon spoke. “Father?” He was breathless, but mustered enough strength to step towards the man. Lord Eddard Stark. 

Back towards the bed, Lady Catelyn finally spoke to Jon, “I want... you... to leave.” The pain and anger on her face was obvious and even made Daenerys fearful. Finally realizing Lord Eddard had entered the room, their eyes broke away and towards Jon’s Lord Father. After a pause, Jon rose from his place by the bed, kissed Bran on the forehead, and walked towards the door. 

As he walked passed his father, her attention was brought back to the Jon she had come here with. His eyes had not left Lord Eddard. Bran, who she had even forgotten was there, walked to his side. They stood together, taking in the sight of their Father who had died many years ago. “Jon, we must go now. We don’t have much time, and there is much to see. We will see him again.” Jon did not speak a word. He only took a deep breath and nodded. Bran placed his hand on his shoulder and the scene in front of them disappeared. 

The wind picked up and blew Daenerys’ cloak open. She reached for it, wrapping it around herself tightly. She had been in the North for a few weeks now, but was still not accustomed to the chill, though it was still not as cold here as it had been. The trees around them were still green, the sky was blue, and there was no snow to be seen. Winter had clearly not come yet. Jon was next to her again, trying to shake off the ghosts of their last encounter. He looked around at their surroundings and let himself smile faintly. It was nice to see him snails after the sadness they had just encountered. 

“Jon? Why was Lady Catelyn so... short with you?” Daenerys did not want to push him, but they were there to understand each others’ past and would not get there without speaking about what they see. 

Jon sighed. “Lady Catelyn was never... fond of me. My father brought me home to Winterfell to raise, after he and Lady Catelyn were already married. I was a reminder of that betrayal, and in her eyes, a threat to her true born children.” He paused, thinking about his next words. “I never wanted to take anything away from them. I only ever wanted to be included; to have a true family and a true name.”

Warmth began to swell within Daenerys. “I don’t know what it is like to grow up a bastard of a great Lord. But I know what it feels like to not have any family, or to have a family member that treats you as... lesser than them.” Her eyes drifted to Bran. She could see now why he was putting them through the pain of reliving their past. Maybe a Northern King and a Foreign Queen could have more in common than anyone would have guessed. 

Bran began to walk towards the small stone bridge in front of them, and Jon took Dany’s hand for them to follow. As Jon pulled her towards the bridge, he looked back at her, a look on his face she had never seen before. Something that could only be described as a grin. Though, when they reached the other side of the bridge, the scene in front of her did not seem worthy of such a look. On the ground was a rotting stag, it’s entrails spilled from its belly, and maggots wriggling all over it. But they did not stop at the stag. Instead, they turned off the trail and down towards the bank of the creek below. After a few steps, they stopped before a group of men and boys looking down at another dead animal, this time a direwolf. 

Speaking around the direwolf’s body, Dany only recognized Ned Stark and younger versions of Jon and Bran again, but this time Bran was awake and walking. She had almost missed a young Theon Greyjoy; he seemed to have changed the most since this time. One other boy and two men were with them. Jon pointed to the boy, who looked to be almost a man, and said, “That is our brother Robb. He was killed at the Red Wedding, along with Lady Catelyn. You were wrong when we first met, though I dared not correct you. Torrhen Stark was not the last King in the North. Robb was.” He was almost beaming with pride as he said it. She looked to Robb, his hair shorter than Jon’s, and closer to his mother’s color. He was comely and held himself as a young lord should. Daenerys tried to imagine him as a King, as young as he was. A smile crept onto her lips. 

While he spoke, the group of Starks and Stark men were debating something. They were a short distance away and Dany tried, with little success, to hear what they were saying. Just then, Ned Stark was making his way back up the bank to where they stood but was stopped short by the younger version of Jon. “Lord Stark,” He said, which Dany found quite peculiar. “There are five pups. One for each of the Stark children. The direwolf is the sigil of your House. They’re meant to have them.” With that, Daenerys knew why they were here. Jon had a direwolf, Ghost, who he had raised since he was just a pup. Many people believed that Ghost did not belong with Jon or around people because it was too dangerous. The same could be said for her Dragons. 

The group was walking towards them now, five new direwolf pups in tow. Jon and Theon had stopped, hearing something Dany could not. Jon walked towards a tree and bent down, emerging with the pale white pup with blazing red eyes. “The runt of the litter. That one’s yours, Snow.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A huge Dany back story dump for Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to hit some backstory stuff first so Jon understands what led to the events at the end. Her just telling him everything seemed too boring, so a quick slideshow from Bran. ALSO, I kept the MMD prophecy from the books, because the show was stupid to leave out the last part and try and act like they included it in season 7. I will probably end up melding a lot of book and show lore to paint a better picture. ok enjoy!!!

Jon

  
Seeing his father and brother again had been indescribable. Not long after they had found the direwolf pups, they had all left their home and journeyed out to meet their own ends. As they walked back up towards their horses, Jon turned back to Dany, his smile had faded some with their departure, but the happiness of the memory still lingered.

“Ghost.” Dany said. He had told her of him a bit while they sailed to White Harbor, while filling her in on what to expect of his family; after all, Ghost was family. She had met him upon their arrival as well, though only for a moment, as some of the people gathered to greet them were uncomfortable with his presence, but not Daenerys. After all, she was the mother of dragons, what was a direwolf compared to that. He would have to be sure to make the time to let them get better acquainted. “It is hard believe he was ever so small.” She turned to Bran then, “Possibly next we can see…”

He cut her off, seeming to already know what it was she was going to say. “Yes, in a moment. There are some things Jon must see from your time with the Dothraki.” Daenerys seemed to shrink into herself at the mention of that, but only for a moment. She squared her shoulders in determination and replied, “Alright, I’m ready.”

Jon stepped back to her side and nodded to Bran. In a blink, they had been transported again, and a younger version of Dany was sitting next to the man she had named Khal Drogo. She looked petrified, looking out over the crowd in hidden horror as the Dothraki around them fought and fucked while drums were playing. The smell of cooking meat filled Jon’s nose, as well as blood. Two slave men walked up to the dais and placed an ornate box at her feet. She knelt down in front of it, raising the carved lid and pulled out a large stone, green and yellow, and looked to be covered in scales. “Dragon’s eggs, Daenerys, from the shadowlands beyond Asshai. The ages have turned them to stone but they will always be beautiful.” She thanked the man who spoke, and returned the egg to its place.

“This was our wedding, Drogo and I.” Daenerys whispered next to him, as if she was afraid anyone else could hear them. “He is about to give me his gift, my silver.” She pointed to a beautiful, grey and silver mare being led towards them. “We are to then, ride off and… consummate the marriage under the open sky, as is tradition. It… was an arranged marriage and I was told to do my duty as a wife, though I did not want it.”

“Say no more,” Jon stopped her there. He knew what she was implying, she had said as much when they had first met. “I have been sold like a brood mare. I have been chained and betrayed, raped and defiled…” This was not something Jon needed to see, and he did not want Dany to have to relive it. Before he could say as much to Bran though, they were already somewhere new.

This time, in a field of grass taller than any man, Dany stood in front of them. She was dressed similar to the way he had seen her Dothraki Bloodriders dress, all leathers and hemp. Her brother was with her again, hand clasped around her throat as he threatened her with the sword in his other. Before he could do any harm to her, a whip ensnared his own throat, ripping him to the ground. As the men who had gathered around spoke Dothraki to the other Daenerys, she begged them not to hurt him. The scene shifted again, to the inside of a tent. Viserys was on top of Daenerys, pinning her to the ground and screaming in her face. “and now you have woken the dragon.” She grabbed a gold belt from the ground next to her and struck him in the face with it. As he fell to the back, clutching his face and checking for blood, she stood over him

“I am a Khaeesi of the Dothraki. I am the wife of the great Khal and I carry his son inside me. The next time you raise a hand to me, will be the last time you have hands.” She seethed. Goose flesh raised on Jon’s arms. Something about her sudden shift from victim of her abusive brother to confident and strong, in what could have only been weeks or months by Jon’s estimate, made his heart ache. He had learned much and more about her in the last few months, but nothing could prepare him for watching her transformation into that strong Dragon Queen.

Then, in a large tent, with a cook fire burning in the middle, Jon saw Viserys walk towards Daenerys with his sword drawn, bringing it down to meet her belly and pushing her back with the point until she was sitting. “I want the crown he promised me. He bought you but he never paid for you. Tell him I want what was bargained for or I am taking you back. He can keep the baby. Ill cut it out and leave it for him.”

Khal Drogo stood from his seat a few feet away, speaking Dothraki that Jon did not understand. And moving towards them. Jon would have done the same, stepping between Daenerys and her vicious idiot of a brother, but he understood by now that he could not do anything to affect this vision, no matter how hard he wished he could.

“He says yes. You shall have a golden crown that men shall tremble to behold.” Daenerys translated for her brother.

“Well that was all I wanted, what was promised.” Viserys said with a nervous chuckle. Drogo moved towards Dany’s side, touching her belly gently, and giving an order to his bloodriders. They grabbed Viserys, dragging him back away from the Khal, and forcing him to kneel and Drogo walked over towards the cook fire. Jon could hear the crack of a broken arm even over Viserys’ cries and pleading for Dany to stop them. Drogo turned back towards them, this time holding a large cooking pot in his hands.

In a very crude, yet fear inducing, attempt at the common tongue, he said “Crown for a king,” and upturned the pot over the young dragon prince’s head, pouring out molten gold onto his silver haired head. Jon stepped back, away from the screams of the Mad King’s last living son, and felt a hand on his shoulder.

In a breath, they were back inside the godswood of Winterfell. Jon felt exhausted. So much had just happened in the span of what could have only been a few seconds, and he is not sure he had grasped anything at all. Perhaps sensing his trepidation, Bran had pulled them out of the vision. “Take a moment,” Bran suggested. “I understand how unnerving this can all feel, and going so quickly cannot be helping that, but we need to get this done now. We are running out of time.”

Jon agreed, and though he did not completely understand his brother’s reasoning for this exercise, he trusted his judgement in the matter. He looked to Dany, who seemed to be handling it better than he. She looked up to him, giving him a small smile, but searching his eyes. Perhaps Daenerys thought he would think less of her for what they had just witnessed, but that could not be further from the truth. What her brother had done to her, not just once but probably her whole life, was unforgivable. He was just lucky Khal Drogo had gotten to him first, before Jon had had a chance to meet the Last Targaryen Prince. Jon squeezed her hand reassuringly, and looked back to Bran. “We’re ready.”

Back in the visions now, surrounded by Dothraki bloodriders in another tent, this time not lit by torches or a cook fire, but by the blazing sun outside. Everyone was listening intently to the women in the center, speaking over the body of Khal Drogo, who looked to be half dead. “Save him and I will free you, I swear it.” Daenerys promised to the older woman knelt by the Khal. “You must know a way. Some magic.”

“There is a way. Some would say death is cleaner…” the woman answered.

“Do it. Save him”

“There is a price.”

Something about the way the woman said that made Jon’s blood run cold. He knew that the Khal was dead, so presumably, whatever this woman was going to do had failed. He remembered then what Dany had told him in the Dragon Pit. The witch who murdered her husband. Next to him, Daenerys stood unmoving, but he knew that look on her face, directed towards this witch. He had scene it on Dragonstone when she learned of the Greyjoy attack. Rage was filling her, but she was not letting it consume her.

“This is not a matter of gold. This is blood magic. Only death can pay for life…”

“My death?” whispered Daenerys.

“No. Not your death, Khaleesi. Bring me his horse,” the witch suggested and Daenerys nodded to the bloodriders.

The scene shifted again, but this time it was Daenerys laying in the center, looking almost dead and Jorah Mormont sitting by her side. Before he could question what had happened, she woke up.

“My son, where is he I want him?” she asked, but only received silence in return. “Where is he?” she asked again, this time more forcefully.

“The boy did not live.” Apprehension and regret tinged Ser Jorah’s voice. He felt a head rest against his shoulder, and looked to see Daenerys, all her rage gone and replaced only with sadness. “He never lived my princess… the women say…”

“What do the women say?” The Daenerys in the vision, however, was full of rage.

“They say the child was…”

“Monstrous, twisted. I pulled him out myself. He was scaled like a lizard, blind, with leather wings like the wings of a bat. When I touched him, his skin fell from his bones inside he was full of grave worms.” The with was there again. Jon could only imagine this description was an exaggeration meant to scare Daenerys. Scales and wings, as if Daenerys had actually given birth to a dragon, but more twisted and long dead. Jorah reached for his sword strapped to his waist. “I warned you that only death can pay for life. You knew the price.”

“Where is Khal Drogo? Show him to me! Show me what I bought with my sons life!”

They were outside now, on a cliffside. Resting against a rock, unmoving except for shallow breaths was her husband. Daenerys was crouched next to him, cupping his slack face in her hand. “This is not life. When will he be as he was?” she asked the witch, partly demanding, partly pleading.

Without hesitation, the witch responded. “When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. When the seas go dry when the mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When you’re womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. Then he will return and not before.” With nothing left to say to the young Khaleesi, she walked off.

“I did not want him to suffer. To be stuck in this state and never be himself again. I could not even be sure that he was there with me at all.” Dany said as she watched the woman. “I pleaded with him to show me a sign, anything so that I would know he was still with me, but he could not. So I took a pillow, and placed it on his face, and released him from this life. The Drogo I knew valued strength above all else, and would not ever want to be kept like that…”

Jon understood completely. The Dothraki that he knew from her Khalasar, though he could not understand their words, he knew they were strong men who had many times looked at him as if judging his strength. At first, they had not seemed to believe that he was anything more than a fly buzzing around their Khaleesi, but as time went on at Dragonstone, they seemed to pay him more mind. Maybe because of what they had judged of him, or only because Daenerys had told them to.

Day shifted to night, and in front of them now was Khal Drogo again, only this time laying on his funeral pyre. Next to his head, Jon could see one of the Dragon eggs, perhaps a yellow one, but it was hard to tell in the darkness.

“Khaleesi. I know what you intend. Do not…” Jorah spoke to her now, pleading with her.

“I must. You don’t understand…”

“Don’t ask me to stand aside as you climb on that pyre. I won’t watch you burn!”

“Is that what you fear?” Daenerys smiled softly, and kissed his cheek, before turning to her Khalasar.

“’Climb on that pyre’?” Jon asked Dany. “What does he…” She interrupted him, placing her soft palm on his cheek, smiling sweetly.

“It must be true!” She whispered to him. His eyebrows furrowed, not understanding what she had meant. “All Northmen are THAT stubborn. Just watch!” When he looked back, the witch was now tied to the pyre, and Daenerys was lighting the pyre. As the fire began to engulf her body, the woman began to sing, then scream. Before she was dead,

Daenerys walked into the fire, Jon only seeing the long belt of her dress catch on fire before the flames grew too large to see anymore.

Jon turned to Dany and Bran, who were both looking to him for his reaction, but when he turned back, the fire was gone, and the sun had just started to peak out from the East.

Ser Jorah walked passed them to where the pyre once stood, and when he knelt, pledging “Blood of my Blood”, Jon understood why.

Of all that went into that fire, the only thing that remained was Daenerys. Her clothes had been burnt away, and soot covered her body, but nothing else. No, not nothing else. Perched atop her shoulder, as she had been on his so many times, was a black and red dragon, no bigger than a cat. Drogon. When she stood, Jon saw a golden dragon cradled in her arms, and a green one climbing up her legs. Viserion and Rhaegal. Around them, the Dothraki that were left began to kneel. And on her shoulder, spreading his wings and lifting his head towards the sky, as if to announce his own arrival, Drogon let out a small, but bone chilling call. “The Mother of Dragons,” Jon thought.


End file.
